Better Off Dead
by suicidalunicorn97
Summary: After Dean is cured by the faith healer, he's having kind of an existential crisis. Trigger warning for suicidal thoughts and suicide attempt. Worried Sam, Angsty Dean. (Set after Season 1 Episode 12, Faith) Rating for language.
1. Chapter 1

_"Why do you deserve to live more than my daughter?"_

Dean couldn't get those words out of his head. Layla's mother was right, if anyone deserved to be cured, it was her. Even if it had been the result of a chained Reaper. But Roy had picked him out of the crowd. Ever since he'd been healed, he just felt w _rong._ like he shouldn't be here. The Reaper had taken someone in his place, and that death was on _him._ How was he supposed to live with that?

Maybe Roy was right. He said Dean was "a young man with an important job to do," but how could he know? The guy wasn't psychic. He just had a psychotic wife. Yeah, Sam and Dean saved a few lives, but there were other hunters. Surely the world wouldn't miss one Winchester.

"You okay?" Sam threw him a sideways glance. They'd been on the road for hours, but Dean hadn't said a single word. He hadn't even turned on the radio. He just sat there with a slight frown, staring at the road ahead.

"I'm fine."

"You sure? Cause-"

"I said I was fine! Jesus, Sam." Dean snapped.

"Well sorry," Sam frowned.

"I'm just tired." Dean said, softening his tone. He hadn't meant to bite the kid's head off.

"You want me to drive for a bit?"

"Nah," He shook his head. "We're almost there. So what do you think we're up against this time?" He asked, trying to make up for the hours of silence. The last thing he needed was Sammy worrying about his sorry ass.

"I dunno." Sam sighed. "Would it kill dad to send more than a text? I mean, coordinates and 'possible vamp nest' isn't very helpful."

Dean groaned inwardly. He could tell that his brother was about to launch into another spiel about how they should be _with_ Dad, looking for the thing that had killed Mom and Jessica.

"Guess we'll just have to do the rest of the work ourselves." He shrugged. "But let's catch a couple hours of sleep first." He turned on the radio before Sam could say anything else.

About an hour later, Dean pulled into a motel parking lot, just a few miles away from the coordinates Dad had sent them. "Hey, we're here." He nudged Sam, who had dozed off along the way.

"Already?" The younger Winchester yawned.

"Get the bags, Sleeping Beauty. I'll check us in."

* * *

Despite being physically and emotionally exhausted, Dean couldn't sleep. He waited until Sam started snoring softly, and then he quietly snuck outside. He leaned against the hood of the Impala with a beer and just stared up at the stars.

It was just so fucking trippy...Layla was his age, but she was dying. She looked so alive, but probably wouldn't even make it to her 28th birthday. Less than _two weeks_ ago, the doctors had given him just months to live. Hell, he'd been in worse shape than Layla.

He could still remember the tight, squeezing chest pain. The shortness of breath and how his whole body ached after walking around for more than a few minutes.

But he was fine now.

In fact, he was more than fine. He was perfectly healthy.

He remembered when the doctor first gave him the news.

 _"You're dying."_

Those words should've felt like a punch to the gut. It was a literal death sentence. He should've been angry, scared...

But he'd felt nothing. Nothing except maybe a sick sense of relief.

How messed up was that?

Truth is, he was tired. A hunter's way of life wasn't easy, but it was the only one he knew. He kinda wanted to be done with it, but what would he do? He couldn't see himself ever truly free of his past. He couldn't just pretend like Monsters weren't out there. He'd always be looking over his shoulder. Seeing potential hunts and then feeling guilty as hell for not following up on them.

He used to love it. Long nights on the road with Dad and Sammy, just the three of them. They were a family. They hunted together, and the rush was awesome.

But then the fighting started.

Dad and Sam, at each other's throats all the time.

And then Sam left.

Things were different after that, and Dean knew that even if they found Dad, even if they managed to kill this _thing_ they'd been chasing for so long...it would never really end. Sam would leave again. Dad would live at the bottom of a bottle.

What kind of future was that?

So maybe he was selfish, but when he heard the phrase, **terminal diagnosis** , it was comforting. To know that he wouldn't be around to deal with the future. With the fallout of everything.

"Dean,"

He turned to see Sam wander out of their motel room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Hey, what are you doing up?"

"Nightmare. What about you?"

Dean felt a pang of guilt. Sam had probably woken from the nightmare scared and alone, only to look over and find that Dean was missing. He should've been there. "Couldn't sleep." He shrugged. "You okay?"

"Yeah," His brother nodded, but Dean could see right through him.

"I'm sorry, kid."

"It's fine," Sam shrugged. "It's gotta stop eventually, right? And at least it's not happening every night anymore."

"Yeah," Dean hesitated. "Do you ever think about what it'll be like when this is all over?"

"What do you mean?" Sam joined him on the Impala's hood.

"When we find the demon, or whatever it is. When we kill it. You gonna go back to college?"

"I don't know." Sam replied honestly. "After everything...It'd be weird. What about you?"

Dean scoffed. "This is my life, I dunno what else I'd do. I don't really have any skills to be a functioning member of society."

"That's not true."

He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Dude, what am I gonna put on a resume? 'Proficient in credit card fraud. Expert ghostbuster, mad ninja skills. Professional pool hustler'? I don't think so."

Sam chuckled. "I always thought you'd make a pretty decent cop. Maybe a detective."

"Are you serious?" Dean snorted. "With my rap sheet?"

"I don't know, man. What did you wanna be when you were a kid?"

Dean paused. It had been forever since he'd even been allowed to think about a future other than hunting. "Before Mom died, I wanted to be a doctor." He said quietly.

Sam's eyes widened. "You never told me that."

"Dude, I was four." Dean took a sip of his beer. "Didn't we all wanna be doctors, or lawyers? You actually went for the dream though."

"I think you'd make a great doctor." Sam said thoughtfully. "You're great at patching me and Dad up after hunts."

"Thanks," Dean smirked. "But there's no way I'd get into med school." He licked his lips. "After Mom, I wanted to be a firefighter."

"That makes sense." Sam studied his face. "That's something you could probably do, you know?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know anymore. This life...it's all I know."

"Doesn't have to be that way."

"Maybe." Dean looked down and cleared his throat. "It's late, let's try and get some sleep." He avoided Sam's eyes as he walked back into their motel room.

As Sam followed him inside, it occurred to him that even in a life without hunting, his brother's ideal job had always been something involving saving people.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, they started working the case. As soon as they checked the news, it was obvious their dad was right. Something weird was definitely going on.

Three people had been killed in the last month, attributed to animal attacks. A quick trip to the Coroner had solidified the vampire theory.

Tracking down their nest wasn't too hard. There was an abandoned factory just outside town, and when they went to check it out, bloodstains were apparent on the doors.

"Wow," Sam huffed quietly.

"What?" Dean whispered.

"Nothing, it's just...this is too predictable. If it's such an easy hunt, why didn't Dad just take care of it?"

"You know he's in California...tracking down the Demon that killed Mom."

"Which means he purposely looked through the papers for a case as far away from Cali as he could find. To keep us away from him." Sam spat angrily.

"Dude, is now really the time?" Dean unsheathed his machete. "Let's go."

Sam shook his head, but quietly pushed open the warehouse door.

Less than 30 seconds later, they were rushed by the vampires. Six of them, which left them seriously outnumbered.

Lucky for them, Dean was in a reckless sort of mood.

He attacked with just as much intensity as the vamps, focusing on dealing out blows instead of blocking them. He swung and slashed until all six vampires lay dead at their feet.

"D-dude..." Sam blinked. "You just took out four vampires all by yourself."

"And you got two. Go team." Dean said flatly, wiping his machete on his pant leg. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "Are you?"

"Yep." Dean's pulse was still racing, the adrenaline blocking any pain. He could've sworn those vamps had gotten a few good hits in, but he couldn't feel it. When they got back to the motel he'd hop in the shower and see what the damage was.

They got in the car, and Sam kept _looking_ at him. That, _"what the hell is wrong with you"_ look.

"Can I help you with something?" Dean asked sarcastically.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"What the fuck happened back there?"

"Let's see, we were hunting, and we killed a nest of vampires. You got amnesia or somethin'?"

"Very funny. Seriously though, you just...the way you went at them..."

"What did you want me to do? Sit back and let them kill us?"

"Well no, but-"

"Then what's your problem?" Dean gripped the steering wheel tightly. A sudden pain flared in his side, and he didn't even have to look down to realize he'd been scratched. Fuck vampires and their creepy-long nails.

Sam just shook his head. His brother was obviously not in the mood to talk.

They arrived at the motel, and Dean gasped in pain when he tried to stand. The adrenaline had finally worn off, and he was already silently cataloguing his injuries.

 _Possible concussion. Scratches to right side and thigh. Torn up left arm._

"Dean!" Sam was at his side in a second.

"Oh, stop." He said through clenched teeth. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, you look fine."

"Shut up."

Once inside, Sam started removing Dean's jacket and shirt.

"Woah, you gonna buy me dinner first?"

Ignoring his comment, Sam glared. "Did you even _try_ to block these blows?" He asked, examining the deep scratches on Dean's side.

"Nah." He shoved Sam away and limped to the fridge for a beer.

"Why the hell not?"

"Dunno."

"Sit down, we've gotta patch you up. Can't let any vamp's blood get into these..."

"Shit," Sam was right. Forgetting modesty, Dean shrugged out of his jeans as well, wincing at the pull of the fabric on the wounds to his thigh.

"Jesus," His brother just stared.

"You gonna get the first aid kit, or...?"

Sam swallowed hard, but quickly grabbed the kit out of their duffel bag. He used alcohol wipes to clean the area, and Dean flinched.

"Sorry," the younger Winchester said.

"'s fine, you don't have to baby me. I could probably do it myself."

"Yeah, but you don't have to." Sam worked quickly, stitching up the wounds on Dean's side and arm while his brother applied pressure to his own thigh.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean tried to keep his mind off the pain by studying his little brother's face. Sam's lips were set in a tight line, and there was an emotion in his eyes that Dean couldn't quite read.

The younger Winchester hated this part of hunting. Well, he hated pretty much everything about hunting, but this was the worst part for him. Unlike Dean, he hated stitching wounds and cleaning cuts. Setting broken or dislocated bones was worse though...

"Yeah. Couple bruises, but I'll live."

"Good." Dean exhaled sharply as Sam started in on the scratches to his thigh. "But that's not what I meant. You look-"

"Pissed? Yeah, probably cause I am."

"Why? Dude, I probably saved your ass."

"Yeah, and you almost got yourself killed while doing it!"

Dean shrugged. "So?"

"What's that supposed to mean!" Sam glared at him, yanking a little harder on the needle than he probably needed to. "Is one near-death experience not good enough for you?"

Dean winced. "I shouldn't even be here. Maybe I'm just trying to restore the balance of the universe or whatever." He mumbled.

Sam froze. "You mean..."

"Nevermind." Dean shook his head. "Don't listen to anything I'm sayin', I think I've got a concussion too."

Sam finished stitching his wounds and gently cleaned the blood from Dean's temple. "Probably. You shouldn't be drinking." He took the beer out of Dean's hand.

"Hey!"

"Shut up." Sam watched as Dean gingerly leaned back against the headboard. "So, you gonna tell me what you meant?"

"Dunno what you're talking about." Dean mumbled, closing his eyes. "I have a brain injury, let me sleep."

"You technically shouldn't be sleeping, you could slip into a coma-"

"You know that's actually a myth, right? Look it up."

Scowling, Sam set up his laptop. "You're not getting out of it that easy. Were you seriously trying to get yourself killed back there?"

Dean didn't answer. Dammit, he was already asleep.

Sam quickly searched the internet for a few minutes, and discovered that Dean was right. As long as the person was able to walk around and hold a conversation, they could sleep without risking a coma.

"Huh. You really could've been a doctor." Sam mused. He sighed. Brain injury or not, they were gonna talk about this in the morning. He knew Dean was still messed up about the Reaper killing that random guy in his place, but he couldn't _actually_ be trying to get himself killed, right?


	3. Chapter 3

Sam didn't sleep very well that night. He didn't even get into bed. He just sat on top of the blankets and read a book, glancing over at Dean and checking on him occasionally to make sure he was still breathing. Around 3 AM, he finally succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep, book still open on his chest.

In the morning, he woke to the sound of a pained yelp. He sat up and looked over just in time to see Dean trying to get out of bed.

"Son of a bitch," He gasped, clutching his thigh as he tried to put weight on it.

"Woah, what do you think you're doing?" Sam quickly rolled out of bed and ran to Dean's side, letting his brother lean on him.

"Bathroom," Dean mumbled.

Sam helped him limp over to the bathroom. "How did you even drive home last night?" He shook his head.

"Dunno. Toss me some clothes, might as well get dressed."

Sam reluctantly let go of his brother, who gripped the doorway tightly to stay upright.

He rummaged around in his own bag for a minute, and handed Dean two white pills after setting his clothes on the bathroom counter. "Here, take these."

"What are they?" Dean squinted. "Dude, is that Oxy?"

"It's from when I got my wisdom teeth out. Just take it, you'll feel better."

"When did you-"

"First year at Stanford. I didn't take the pills 'cause they made me sick, so if you need more later, I have them." Sam explained, handing him a cup of water.

"Thanks." Dean took the pills and shut the door.

After a few minutes, Sam heard the shower running. He frowned, getting up to bang on the door. "Hey, be careful in there! You're gonna rip your stitches open!"

"Relax, I know what I'm doing." Dean replied, irritation in his strained voice.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. He'd forgotten what a horrible patient Dean could be.

* * *

Just when he was about to pick the lock and make sure his brother hadn't drowned in the shower, Dean opened the door. He glared at Sam. "Dude, why'd you give me the basketball shorts? I can't go out in public like this."

Sam rolled his eyes, and helped Dean back to the bed. "So I can keep an eye on those stitches. You're not going anywhere for a little while."

"What if Dad sends us a new case?"

"Then we'll just have to call another hunter to take care of it." Sam answered, lifting Dean's T-shirt to take a look at the stitches in his side.

Dean unsuccessfully tried to swat his brother's hands away. "Dammit, that's not how this works!"

"Maybe if you'd actually tried to defend yourself, you wouldn't be so torn up! You can barely walk, Dean. I'm not gonna let you hunt like this." Sam finally stepped away after making sure all his stitches were still intact.

"I'm fine, you don't have to take care of me, you know."

Sam scoffed. "Dude, you're like the complete opposite of 'fine'."

"Whatever." Dean scowled. "You know what, why don't you drive to California? Go find Dad."

"W-what?" Sam blinked.

"You heard me. You wanna find him so bad, leave me here. Go after this demon with him."

"Hold on, you're the one that said-"

"That it might be dangerous, and there was a reason Dad was keepin' us out of the loop? Yeah, well...maybe he was just trying to protect _me._ You've always been the better hunter, Sammy. You'll be alright. Without me to slow me down, you two will find the thing that killed Mom and Jess. When this is all over, go back to school, have a normal life. A s _afe_ life. God knows you deserve it, after all the shit you've been through." Dean's glare had faded to a tired frown.

Sam stared at his brother in shock. Where the hell did that come from? "Dean, you're wrong."

He chuckled dryly. "Seriously? You've been bitching at me to go find Dad in Cali for weeks now."

"No, about everything else! You're not slowing anyone down! I don't know what you're talking about, 'cause you have _always_ been the better hunter. I may be bigger, but you're faster. You're always teasing me about being the geek, but you actually know more about the creatures we hunt. Because it's more than just a job to you. It's about more than surviving, it's your _life_!"

"Yeah, well, maybe it used to be." Dean looked away.

"What is going on with you?" Sam asked with a concerned frown.

"Nothing. Concussion is just fucking with my head." He sighed. "Can we drop it?"

Sam didn't want to. He was worried, this wasn't like Dean. But his brother looked exhausted. They could talk more later.

"Alright." He said quietly.


	4. Chapter 4

While Dean rested, Sam kept himself busy by hauling all their guns in from the car. Whenever they had a day or two between cases, Dean liked to clean their weapons. After a hunt there usually wasn't a whole lot of time for it. He locked the door and shut the windows. Last thing they needed was someone seeing and telling the motel manager that they were international crime lords or something.

Sam lost himself in the repetitive motion of taking apart the guns and wiping down their individual parts before putting them back together. It was actually kind of soothing. A couple hours passed, and Dean didn't stir.

He finished up with the guns, and went to the car to get the knives. They usually wiped off the blood and guts before putting them back, but every once in a while he like to check and make sure they were still sharp. A dull blade in a job like this could get you killed.

He came back inside to find Dean wide awake, sitting up in bed. He was staring at the arsenal of guns on the table with a strange expression.

"Hey, you're awake." Sam set the duffel bag of knives down. "How are you feeling?"

"Peachy," Dean grunted, tearing his eyes away from the weapons. "What are you doing?"

"Just cleaning stuff. I finished with the guns and I was about to do a knife check. Wanna help?"

"Sure," Dean groaned as he tried to move.

"Woah, take it easy." Sam stopped him. "I'll bring them to you."

"Don't have to treat me like a kid." Dean mumbled.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're not a kid. You're hurt."

"If I don't get up and moving, I'll get stiff." He complained.

"Dude, give yourself a couple days. If you keep ripping your stitches open, you'll never heal."

"Whatever. I'll take the machetes."

Sam sat on the bed opposite Dean, and they began to inspect the blades.

They worked in silence, but Sam kept glancing at his brother out of the corner of his eye. Dean was working slowly, partially thanks to the injuries on his left arm. But there was something else. That same look from earlier, when he was staring at the guns. Sam's brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what it meant.

"Dude, quit eye-fucking the knives," He finally said when Dean took particularly long with a certain machete. He was examining it for damage, sure. But it was more than that. He was gazing at it like he was imagining what it would look like slicing through someone's neck. There was a kind of quiet desperation in the set of his jaw, and a barely concealed hopelessness in his eyes.

Dean looked up and snorted. "What, can't a guy appreciate a beautiful blade?"

"I just don't like how you're looking at it."

"I'll buy her dinner first, don't worry." Dean chuckled. When Sam's frown didn't disappear, he raised an eyebrow. "You're serious."

"Yeah, I am. Maybe I should finish this up."

"What the hell are you talking about?" He glared.

"You're looking at it like you wanna stab someone with it!"

"That's kinda what these are for, Sammy."

"No, but someone _specific._ "

Dean was quiet for a moment. "Well maybe I do."

Sam's eyes widened at the confession. "Who?"

Dean hesitated. "The demon. The one who fucked up our lives." He said, not very convincingly. "Even though I know it wouldn't do much good."

"Hm." Sam narrowed his eyes, but didn't press the issue. He tried to hurry through the rest of the knives so he could get them out of Dean's reach. Truthfully, the look in his eyes wasn't homicidal. He didn't doubt that his brother wanted to murder the demon, but with the way Dean had been talking lately...he was more worried the violent thoughts were directed towards himself.

Once the weapons were safely back in the Impala's trunk, Sam came back inside and sat on the edge of Dean's bed.

"Oh God, we're gonna have a chick-flick moment, aren't we?"

"Talk to me. What's going on with you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Dean avoided his eyes.

"Ever since that faith healer, you've been different."

"I almost died, give me a break!"

"Yeah, that's what I don't get...when you thought you were dying, you were like, weirdly calm about it. Like you didn't even care! But as soon as Roy healed you-"

"You mean, as soon as the Reaper _killed_ some random guy in my place! I'm sorry, Sam, but that's not something I can just forget."

"It wasn't your fault." He said quietly.

"Maybe not directly, but still."

"Throwing away your own life won't bring him back."

Dean pressed his lips into a thin line. How could he tell Sammy these thoughts weren't new? How could he look his little brother in the eye and tell him he'd wanted to die for years? He couldn't.

"I know." He finally replied. "Hey, I'm starving. Wanna go out and see if there's a good burger place?"

Sam sighed. He knew the change of subject was intentional, but Dean had a point. They hadn't eaten anything since last night. "Okay. I'll be right back. Bacon burger with extra grease?"

"You know how I like it." Dean gave his best fake grin, although the thought of food right now made his stomach turn.

* * *

With Sam gone, it felt like Dean could finally breathe again. Pretending to be okay was exhausting. He put his head in his hands. God, he just wanted it to _end._

He looked up, and his gaze landed on the bottle of pills on the nightstand. Huh.

An idea began to form in his mind.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean's hand shook as he began to write.

 _Sam,_

 _I'm not really sure how to explain this to you. Hell, I don't know if I can explain it to myself. With how hard we've worked to stay alive, I bet this seems really stupid. But it's the way it's gotta be. With me out of the way, you and Dad will find the thing pretty quick. Just be careful. I get the feeling Dad's gonna be pretty reckless when it comes to the final fight, cause he's got nothing to lose. But you do. I've been selfish. I didn't want you to go to Stanford, I wanted you to stay with me and Dad. I guess I'm a little co-dependent. But I can see that it needs to stop. You're better than this, Sammy. I've been holding you back._ _After you and Dad kill this son of a bitch, go back to school. Marry a nice girl and start a life. You've earned it._

 _I need you to know that this is me. I'm not possessed or anything. This is my choice. I've been living on borrowed time anyway._

 _I love you, Sammy. I'm proud of you. And I'm sorry._

 _Dean_

He read through it one last time. God, Sam was gonna be pissed. But he'd get over it and see the reason behind this decision eventually, right?

Dean wasn't stupid. He knew an overdose was probably the worst way to kill himself. But he just couldn't leave Sammy to deal with the awful bloody mess that would be left behind from a gunshot or severed artery.

He locked himself in the bathroom with the bottle of pills, and unscrewed the lid.

This was it.

* * *

As Sam left the burger joint, he couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that something was wrong. He dialed Dean's number, but he didn't pick up.

That wasn't a good sign.

He sped back to the motel and threw the car in park, almost forgetting their food on the passenger seat. He unlocked the door and walked in, half-expecting to see something awful.

But it was suspiciously quiet. He set the food down on the table, and knocked on the bathroom door.

"Hey, I'm back. Food's getting cold, hurry up."

"Go ahead and start without me," Came a strangled voice from the other side.

Although relieved to hear his brother's voice, the feeling was still there. "You okay? You sound like crap."

"Pain meds wearing off, is all." Dean replied.

Sam glanced at the nightstand where he'd left the Oxycodone. He frowned. The bottle was gone, and in its place was a note scrawled on the motel's paper pad. He picked it up and began reading.

"Oh my God," He whispered, feeling sick. "Dean!" He ran to the door and started pounding on it. "Open up!"

"Jus' leave me alone." a slurred voice answered.

"Please don't do this!" Sam begged. He backed up and ran towards the door, hitting it forcefully with his shoulder. The hinges splintered, and the door flew open.

"You've gotta let me go, Sammy," Dean was on the floor leaning up against the wall, surrounded by four empty beer bottles. He held the Oxycodone container in hand, and Sam ripped it from his grasp.

"Did you take any?" He demanded, looking inside. It looked like they were all still there, but he couldn't be sure.

"Not yet. Needed to get drunk first."

"Thank God." Sam breathed, shoving the pills safely into his jacket pocket. "Get up." He helped Dean to his feet, and they limped back into the room. He eased his brother onto the bed.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Sam exploded.

Dean flinched. "'s all in the note." He replied softly.

"I wanna hear it from _you._ "

"Well I wrote that thing, so technically-"

"Fuck you!" Sam shouted, trembling with anger and worry. "You tried to fucking kill yourself!"

"Sammy, just calm down-"

"Don't tell me to calm down!"

"Sam." Dean stared up at him, unfocused eyes trying to figure out which Sam he was talking to. It had been a long time since he'd been drunk enough to get double-vision. "Please..." He tried to stand up, but collapsed with a yelp.

Sam caught him, and they both sank to the floor. "I can't do this without you," the younger Winchester whispered brokenly. He cleared his throat. "You're wrong about everything, Dean. You're not holding me back. You're not preventing us from finding the demon. We _need_ you."

"That's bullshit. You're jus' tryin' to make me feel better." Dean slurred.

Sam helped him into bed for a second time. "I mean it." He sighed. "I should take you to a hospital."

"What? Why?" Dean looked slightly panicked.

"You're so drunk you can barely talk! This can't be good for your concussion."

"Had worse." He winced, leaning back against the pillows. "Besides, they ask too many questions." He shut his eyes.

"You're gonna have one hell of a hangover in the morning." Sam observed.

"'m tired." Dean's eyelids fluttered, like he was trying to keep them open.

"Go to sleep. But we're talking about this tomorrow, and you can't get out of it." Sam promised.

"Mmm." Dean mumbled his protest, but was unconscious within moments.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. What the fuck had just happened?

He read through Dean's note one more time, and his heart just broke. How could his brother believe this shit? Why did he feel this way? What had happened to make him think he was just slowing them down? After everything they'd been through, how could he just _leave?_

Sam dialed their father's number. He knew John wouldn't pick up, but there were a few things he needed to say to the man.

As expected, it went straight to voicemail.

"Dad, it's Sam. I don't know if you listen to your messages, but I sure as hell hope you do. Cause we need you. _Dean_ needs you. He just tried to kill himself, Dad." Sam's voice broke. "He thinks he's the reason you left. He thinks he's slowing us down, getting in the way. He thinks we're better off without him, and I need you to help me prove him wrong. He won't listen to me!"

He took a breath. "Call me back. Or call Dean, and leave a voicemail. And you better have a damn good excuse for being gone, cause he's just gonna keep blaming himself."

Sam hung up, and resigned himself to another night of watching Dean sleep. His thoughts wouldn't shut off.

 _How could he have missed the warning signs?_

 _His brother was **suicidal.**_

 _How could he fix this?_


	6. Chapter 6

Dean woke with a pounding headache. In fact, his whole body ached. He groaned and opened his eyes, half expecting to find himself dying in a ditch somewhere.

He blinked a couple times, and the motel room came into focus.

 _Oh yeah..._

He remembered now. He was gonna take the pills. Kill himself. Obviously he hadn't succeeded. He tried to sit up, and suddenly Sam was at his side, propping him up against some pillows.

"Take it easy," His brother said.

Dean studied Sam's face. Dark circles and red-rimmed eyes stood out. "What happened?" Dean mumbled. "You look like shit."

"Yeah, well, you don't look so hot either." Sam tried to smirk, but his lips just twitched. "What do you remember?"

"I uh, wrote a note, drank a few beers...the rest is a blank."

"You got yourself blackout drunk and I came home before you could..." Sam trailed off, looking away.

"Wait, so I didn't even take any pills?" Dean asked in disbelief. "Wow. I can't even kill myself right." He chuckled, hissing when it sent a spark of pain through the stitches in his side.

"Don't say that." Sam's voice broke.

"I'm sorry, kiddo."

"If you're so sorry, why'd you do it?" Ah, there it was. The anger masking the grief and pain.

"Everything's a little fuzzy right now..." Dean mumbled. "Could we do this later?"

Sam glared, but agreed. "Fine."

* * *

Throughout the day, Sam cared for Dean as best he could. Forcing him to stay hydrated, even got him to eat a few pieces of toast. His brother mostly just slept though. Sometimes that was the best thing to do for a hangover; sleep it off.

More than once, it crossed Sam's mind how...passive Dean was being about this whole thing. Normally he wouldn't let Sam mother-hen over him. That was _his_ job, as the big brother. He figured it had something to do with feeling guilty for almost leaving Sam. And it probably didn't help that Dean was in serious pain.

Sometime after noon, while Dean was still sleeping, Sam's phone rang.

"Hello?"

 _"Sam,"_

"Dad?!" His eyes widened. "Where the hell have you been? Are you okay?"

 _"I'm alright. Getting closer to finding the Demon."_ Their father paused. _"What's going on with Dean?"_

"So you are getting my messages." Sam huffed. "Why didn't you call when he was _dying_?"

 _"Because I knew you'd find a way to save him. And you did."_

"Yeah, well...that created a whole different problem, apparently."

" _What's happening? Are you sure he_ tried _to kill himself? Maybe he just got a little reckless on a hunt. We're all guilty of that sometimes-"_

"No, Dad. He did get reckless on a hunt, earned himself some stitches for that. Then we came back to the motel and he tried to swallow a bottle of pills the next day."

 _"Maybe he was just trying to take something for the pain."_

"You're not hearing me, Dad! He wrote a _suicide_ note. He locked himself in the bathroom. He got so drunk he could barely move, and I found him like that just as he was about to start downing the pills."

There was a shocked silence. " _Christ."_ John finally said.

"Yeah."

" _Why'd he do it?"_

"Like I said in the message, he thinks he's slowing us down. That we'd be better off without him."

 _"Why the hell would he think that?"_

"I don't know. He's been messed up ever since..."

 _"Since what?"_

"I took him to a faith healer, and that's how we fixed his heart. But apparently the guy's wife had a Reaper on a leash...long story short, it was killing someone for every life it saved."

 _"Dean blames himself for someone dying in his place."_

"Yeah. But it's more than that, I don't know why he thinks he's a burden."

John hesitated. " _Well, he has been off his game since you left."_

"What?"

" _He's been getting sloppy. Reckless."_

"Are you serious right now? Hell, you're probably the person who put this idea in his mind!"

 _"Don't try to pin it on me!"_

"Hey, what's with all the yelling?" Dean grumbled, waking up. "Who's that on the phone?"

 _"Let me talk to him,"_ John said, lowering his voice.

"Don't say anything stupid." Sam warned his father. He walked over to Dean. "It's Dad."

"Dad?!" Dean's eyes widened. "You called him?"

Sam just handed him the phone. He didn't miss how Dean's hands shook slightly as he put the phone up to his ear.

"Sir?"

Sam watched as Dean's body language changed. He bit his lip nervously, and there was a look of nervousness in his eyes.

"Dad, wait! You don't have to, I mean, what if you lose the trail?" Dean swallowed hard. "I-I understand. Yes sir." He hung up.

"Well, what did he say? Sam recognized the look of defeat and quiet obedience that usually followed one of John Winchester's orders.

"He's coming here."

Sam's eyes widened. "What?"

"Yeah, apparently he's only a couple hours away, the Demon's trail picks up a few towns over. He's been headed this direction anyway. Good timing I guess."

"Wow." Sam rubbed his temples, trying to keep his growing headache at bay.

"You should take a nap or somethin' til he gets here. He's gonna think I'm not taking care of you."

"Dean, I can take care of myself now."

"I know." He avoided his brother's gaze.

Realization crossed Sam's face. "He told you that, didn't he? He got mad at you for trying to check out; told you to stay alive 'cause you need to watch out for me."

"He knows me well." Dean confirmed.

"Unbelievable..." Sam shook his head. "You know, your life is more than just keeping me safe. You're a person too, Dean!"

"Yeah, whatever."

"Did he say anything..."

"Heartwarming? Anything that would make me believe I'm not just a waste of oxygen?" Dean gave a bitter laugh. "Naw, I almost wanna kill myself _more._ Put a bullet in my brain before I can see how disappointed he is in me."

Sam's face paled and he looked like he was gonna be sick.

"Aw, shit. I'm sorry, dude." Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I didn't mean it."

"Sure you didn't."

"Hey, I wanna shower and put on some real clothes before Dad gets here."

"Alright. Just give me a minute." Sam went into the bathroom and removed all the razors and anything else remotely sharp or dangerous.

"You finished baby-proofing?" Dean asked with annoyance.

Sam ignored him, and helped him over to the bathroom. "Don't lock the door. In fact, keep it cracked open a bit."

"Perv." Dean mumbled, but did as he was told.

After showering, Dean found himself cuffed to the bed as Sam took a 30 minute nap. He tried to convince his brother that he wasn't in immediate danger of offing himself, but Sam wasn't having it.

He stared at the ceiling and took deep breaths, trying to calm his pounding heart. He missed their dad, and definitely wanted to see him again. Just not under these circumstances. What would he say?

Maybe it was a good thing Sam cuffed him to the bed. His pistol was looking more and more inviting by the second...


	7. Chapter 7

**I just want to say thank you so much to my followers! I haven't been updating because it's finals week and I'm dying. But it's almost over, so I'll be posting more often. I also wanted to give a special thanks to babyreaper, you review all my stories and it makes me so happy! I always look forward to your feedback. Thanks so much to everyone else who has left reviews too! I thrive on them. Every time I see a new comment it makes me wanna write more. I love you all.**

* * *

Sam only allowed himself to take a short nap. He sure as hell wasn't gonna be asleep when their father showed up. He already regretted calling John. He peered out the motel window and watched as a large black truck parked next to the Impala.

"Hey, you gonna let me out of these?" Dean gestured, still handcuffed to the bed.

"Not yet," Sam replied, stepping outside and shutting the door before Dean could protest. He inhaled sharply as he saw John step out of the truck. He was really here.

After all these months. After disappearing and ignoring them for months, only to receive a cryptic phone call to stop looking for him.

Sam clenched his fists. It took conscious effort to keep himself from punching the man in the face.

But then his father stopped in front of him and spoke.

"Sam," His voice was low and hoarse. He sounded exhausted. He was obviously in desperate need of a shave and a good night's sleep. His eyes were bloodshot and his shoulders slumped.

"Hey, Dad."

"Last time we were together, we had one hell of a fight."

"Yes, sir." Sam looked down, feeling defensive, but also a little guilty.

"It's good to see you again. It's been a long time."

Sam looked up, surprised. "Too long." He said softly.

John hesitated, but pulled his younger son into a hug.

Sam inhaled the familiar scent of gunpowder and whiskey that was his father.

They pulled away, and John rubbed the back of his neck. "How's Dean?"

Sam bit his lip. "He's in a really bad place right now."

"Dammit..."

John actually looked nervous as he followed Sam back into the motel room. His eyes widened when he saw Dean handcuffed to the bed.

Sam shrugged. "Just in case."

"Hey, Dad!" Dean's face was a portrait of mixed emotions. He was obviously happy to see their dad in one piece, but his shame at the situation was apparent as well.

Sam unlocked the handcuffs and helped his brother to his feet. Dean leaned on him heavily as the movement pulled on his stitches.

"Looks like you really did a number on yourself." John's worried gaze swept over him. "What are your injuries? Did Sam take care of them?"

"Yeah, Sammy patched me up." Dean nodded, purposely ignoring the first question.

"He's got a concussion, stitches to his right side and thigh, and also his left arm. Nothing permanently damaged." Sam filled him in. "Oh, and he's also recovering from an epic hangover." He added.

Dean glared. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, you're the picture of health." John scoffed. "Come here." Sam let go of Dean long enough for their father to hug him.

"It's good to see you." Dean said as he took an unsteady step back. He swatted Sam's hands away. "I'm fine." He mumbled again.

"Yeah, I've missed you boys."

"Then why didn't you meet up with us sooner?" Sam challenged.

John sighed, clearly not in the mood for a fight. "Too dangerous. I've been tracking the demon, getting close. You two are my weakness. I couldn't let the son of a bitch use you to get to me."

"But-"

"Sam, please." Dean said quietly.

Swallowing his anger and frustration, Sam held his tongue for his brother's sake.

"Dean, sit down. We need to talk." John said, addressing the whole reason he'd finally showed up.

"Damn straight we do. What's the plan for catching this thing?" Dean reluctantly sat on the bed, wincing.

Sam sat next to him, and John took a seat on the edge of the bed across from them. "You know that's not why I'm here, son."

"Can we just forget about that?" Dean asked desperately, looking extremely uncomfortable.

"I wish I could. Trust me, the last thing a father wants to hear is that his son is..." He cleared his throat. "I just don't get it, Dean. What's so bad about this life that you'd throw it away?"

"This is ridiculous." Dean mumbled. He stood up, trying to get some space. He needed a beer.

Sam beat him to the fridge, standing in his way. "You shouldn't be drinking."

"Well I can't exactly have this conversation sober. Why are we even doing this?" He limped to the small table and sat down. "We should be going after the demon!"

"We've been looking for 20 years, I think it can wait another day." John said.

"Alright, what do you wanna hear?" Dean asked tiredly. "I won't do it again. Let's get on with this so we can get to the important thing, which is finding this son of a bitch and smoking it!"

"No, _you_ are the important thing!" John started to raise his voice, but took a deep breath and spoke quietly. "You and Sam are all I have left, Dean. Yeah, I wanna kill the bastard and end this, but I can't lose you in the process. That's why I've been staying away, I thought I was protecting you."

Sam didn't say anything, but he was proud of their father for finally recognizing his priorities, and putting family first.

John looked at his hands. "I know I haven't been the best father. I dragged you two around the country without even thinking about what it was doing to you. The hunter's life is a lonely life. I never wanted this for you."

"Dad, you don't have to-"

"I've just been...so preoccupied with trying to find this thing and get revenge...I didn't take the time to be your father. I was your drill sergeant. Maybe a few more hugs and a lot less whiskey...and we wouldn't be in this mess. I've completely failed as a parent." He laughed bitterly.

"Dad, that's not true." Dean felt horrible. This was all his fault.

"It is though." John looked at his sons with regret in his eyes. "Instead of getting pissed at you for being more reckless on hunts after Sam left, I should've seen what was happening. You weren't being sloppy, you were trying to get yourself killed on purpose. I should've seen the signs."

"Wait..." Sam stared at his brother with wide eyes. "You've been suicidal since I left for Stanford?"

"Don't...don't try to blame yourself for this. Both of you, it's just me being a whiny bitch, alright? It's not your fault." He started to pace, something he usually did when nervous. But the wounds on his thigh were screaming at him after only a few seconds, so he sat back down on the bed across from his dad. "I mean it, it's not your fault."

"That's debatable." John sighed. "But I need to quit making things about me. You're not a 'whiny bitch', you're just struggling right now. Talk to me, son."

Dean nervously twisted his ring. Obviously they weren't gonna let it go. "I dunno, I just miss the way things used to be."

"What do you mean?"

"The three of us against the world. Saving people, making a difference. I hated the fighting." He said honestly. "I know you and Sam don't see eye-to-eye, but I could see it from both sides and it just...killed me. Cause both of you wanted me to pick a side and I couldn't."

"I had no idea..." Sam bit his lip.

"It's okay, I don't want you to feel bad. That's not the point." Dean said quickly. "After you left, things were okay. I missed you like hell, but I knew you were happy. But things just weren't the same. And then Dad disappeared..." He swallowed hard, avoiding his father's gaze. "After two weeks of lookin' for you, I almost ate a bullet."

Both John and Sam exhaled sharply.

"I was this close to pulling the trigger." Dean admitted. "But I couldn't do it, cause I needed to know if you were safe. If you were being kept and tortured someplace...I had to save you. Couldn't take the coward's way out."

"When you came to get me...man, if I had known-"

"It's okay, Sammy. I didn't want you to know."

"Why now?" John asked suddenly. "We're close to catching the demon, you two are hunting together again...I don't understand."

"I thought I was holding you back. Like you said, I've been slacking off on hunts. I thought...that you thought I'd screw up. And that's why you left." He shrugged.

"Well you're wrong." John said firmly. "You're an amazing hunter, Dean. I know you'd kick this thing's ass. I just don't want you getting hurt."

Dean laughed and gestured to the bloody bandages on his arm. "Occupational hazard, Dad. Nothing we haven't seen before."

"This is different."

"I know, I know." Dean shook his head. "But you gotta let us help. Three against one, better odds than just you."

"He's got a point." Sam added.

John sighed. "Alright...we can work together. But if this thing goes south, I want you two out of there."

"Deal." Sam nodded. He exchanged a glance with Dean, an unspoken understanding that they would probably have to forcibly remove their father from the situation too if things went bad.

"Are we good?" John asked. "Dean, you good?"

"Yeah, I'm aces." Dean forced a smile. They'd talked things out, so why did he still feel like shit?" Now that we got everything sorted out, who's hungry?"

* * *

 **There's still more coming, stay tuned! And thanks again for reading and reviewing :)**


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, Dean awoke to the sound of hushed voices. He laid still and kept his eyes closed, knowing they were talking about him.

"...in no shape to be hunting." Their father was saying.

"Yeah, but we can't just leave him alone like this." Sam argued.

"Why not?" John asked. "Do you think he's still suicidal? We talked it out, he should be fine now."

Dean could almost hear the bitchface in Sam's voice. "He's been like this for a while, Dad. Those kind of thoughts don't just magically go away after one little talk. I still think we should keep an eye on him for a while."

As much as he hated to admit it, his brother was right about one thing: he didn't feel any better. But that didn't mean he was gonna let Sam babysit him.

"Fair enough." John sighed. "But the demon is _so close._ This could be our one shot."

Sam was quiet for a moment. "Alright. You go, Dean and I will catch up when his wounds are healed. The ones on his thigh are the worst; the stitches should come out in about a week."

 _NO!_ Dean wanted to shout. It was too dangerous for their father to go after this thing alone. What if he got hurt? Or worse...

"Sounds good. You boys take care of each other."

"We always do. Here, I'll help you pack the truck." He could hear them carry the bags out the door.

He waited until he was certain they were both outside, and then threw off the covers, limping to Sam's duffel. He quickly rummaged through it, finding the pills hidden at the bottom of the bag inside one of his brother's socks.

He didn't even have to think about it this time.

There was no way he could let their father take on the demon by himself. He needed Sam for backup. And obviously the only way that was gonna happen was for Dean to take himself out of the picture.

He swallowed every single pill in the bottle, chasing them down with whiskey. He already felt sick, but he was pretty sure it was just nerves. He hurriedly climbed back into bed, throwing the covers over himself just as Sam and their father walked back in.

"You'd better stay in touch this time." Sam was telling him.

"Oh, I will. I'll text you the coordinates when I finally catch up to the thing."

"Good." Sam paused. "Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you get into my bag?"

 _Fuck._

"No..."

"That's weird, I could've sworn I zipped it up..." He heard Sam pick up the bag. "Oh my god." He said in a horrified tone. "Dean, what the fuck did you do?"

 _Shit. It wasn't supposed to go like this._

Dean opened his eyes as Sam threw the covers off him. There was no point in pretending to be asleep anymore. He struggled to sit up, suddenly feeling very drowsy. His muscles felt like jello.

"How many did you take?" His father asked, white knuckles clutching the empty bottle tightly. Dean had never seen his father look so scared before.

"All of them. He took all of them." Sam said, panicking. "Dean, you gotta throw them up." They literally had to drag him out of bed to the bathroom. He resisted as much as he could, but his body just didn't want to cooperate. He felt a numbness spreading through him.

"No," He shook his head. "Dad, you need to take Sam with you. You can't do this by yourself. Just go, you can't lose the trail again!" He pleaded.

"I'm not leaving you!" John's voice broke as he held Dean above the toilet. Sam shoved his fingers down his brothers throat, forcing him to gag.

Dean's eyes watered and his throat burned as he emptied the contents of his stomach.

"Is that all of them? Did he throw them all up?" John's desperate voice seemed to come from somewhere above him, and Dean realized he was too weak to even hold his eyes open.

"I don't know. Dad, we need to get him to a hospital _now!_ " Sam shouted.

Suddenly he was being lifted off his feet. What the hell? He was a grown man, there's no way in hell his father could still lift him.

Then again, it's crazy what adrenaline can do to a person.

The last thing he heard before blacking out was the sound of the Impala's engine roaring to life, and his father screaming, "Drive, Sam!"


	9. Chapter 9

"You gotta stay with us, Dean!" Sam begged, driving as fast as he could. This whole thing felt so surreal. He glanced in the rearview mirror.

Dammit, his brother did _not_ look good. He was ghostly pale, and obviously unconscious. Their father had carried him to the car like he weighed nothing, no small feat for a man his age.

"He's so cold, Sammy." John's voice broke as he held his oldest son in his arms. He could feel the life draining from him. "Oh God..."

"Hold on, man..." _We were just starting to be brothers again._ He thought.

"I'm so sorry, Dean...fuck..." John swore.

Sam swallowed hard. In all his life, he'd never seen their father like this. "It's my fault." He shook his head. "I shouldn't have left the pills in my bag. I should've thrown them away. I should've cuffed him to the bed again-"

"Sam, stop. It's not your fault." John cut him off.

Dean groaned as they hit a bump.

"Hey, hey...open your eyes. That's it. You're gonna be okay." John shook him gently, trying to get him to stay conscious.

"'m sorry, dad." Sam could barely hear the whisper.

"It's okay, son. It's gonna be okay."

"Hurts..." Dean gasped.

"You're gonna be fine," Their father said, failing miserably at hiding the panic in his voice.

"No, let me go," He said through clenched teeth. "Wanna die."

"Sorry kid, but that ain't happening." John declared, voice full of emotion. "How much farther, Sammy?"

"We're almost there," He replied, hoping they weren't too late.

"Dean? Dean! Fuck, he's not breathing!" Their father gave a strangled shout.

Sam sped through the exit and tore down the road to the emergency room. He threw the car in park and screamed for help as John lifted a lifeless Dean out of the backseat.

The ER staff swarmed them, and soon he was being carried away on a gurney.

"What happened?" One of the nurses asked them.

"He overdosed on Oxycodone." Sam managed to say.

"Okay," The woman nodded. "Wait here."

It took everything he had not to follow her. That was his _brother_ in there! A doctor pulled the curtain so they couldn't see what was going on in the trauma room.

"Christ." Sam sobbed.

John sunk into one of the chairs and put his head in his hands, silently praying to a God he didn't believe in to save his son.

* * *

 **Sorry about the cliffhanger, my mom is bugging me to walk my dog before it rains. I'll try to have the next chapter up by tomorrow :) Please leave a review, they really help me! Thank you so much for reading!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry it's been so long since my last update! Don't hate me.**

* * *

They waited for what felt like hours, barely saying two words to each other. Sam was caught up in thoughts of a world without his big brother, and John was already planning a hunter's funeral, blaming himself for everything.

Finally, a doctor approached them. "Family of Dean Winchester?"

They anxiously stood, looking at the man with apprehension. "Yeah, that's us." In all the panic, John had completely forgotten to come up with an alias. They held their breath, expecting the worst.

"He's going to be okay." The doctor said with a smile.

"Thank God..." John put a hand on Sam's shoulder, leaning against him slightly.

"Any permanent damage?" The younger Winchester asked. He was glad Dean would live, but his eyes were still guarded. He knew better than to assume things would work out in their favor.

"No, he'll make a full recovery. He's lucky you had the knowledge to make him throw the majority of the pills up. And you got him here in record time. We were able to pump his stomach, and we've got him on IV fluids to get the rest out of his system."

Sam felt like he could breathe again. He put a hand over his mouth, holding back a relieved sob.

"Can we see him?"

"Of course. He'll be unconscious for a while longer, but I'll take you to his room." As they followed the doctor down the hall, he cleared his throat. "While we were treating him, we noticed that your son has some other injuries. Do you know where he got them?" He directed the question at John.

"He was mugged a couple nights ago." He lied easily. This wasn't the first time they'd had to fabricate a story.

"They aren't your typical defensive wounds." The doctor said suspiciously.

"Yeah, he decided to fight back instead of protecting himself." Sam said honestly.

"Hm," The man nodded. "That makes sense, considering his suicidal state of mind."

Sam flinched at the reminder.

They reached Dean's room, and John had to take a moment to collect himself. His son was way too pale, surrounded by tubes and wires with monitors beeping steadily. Without them, one might assume he was dead. The way he was lying so still...

"When can he leave?" Sam asked in a hushed voice.

"I'd like to keep him overnight for observation. The hospital also has a 24 hour mandatory psychiatric hold for suicide attempts, so you'll be able to check him out around 11:00 tomorrow."

"Thanks." They hovered in the doorway, just watching. Every time the doctor reminded them what Dean had done, Sam felt sick.

"But I would recommend admitting him to our psychiatric ward." The man added. "We have an excellent staff, specially trained in-"

"No." John interrupted. "Thanks, but I know my son. Being cooped up in a place like this would only make things worse."

"Alright." He shrugged. "I'll have the nurses bring in some pamphlets for therapists in the area."

He walked away before they could tell him not to bother, that they'd be leaving as soon as Dean was well enough.

They walked into the room and John sank into a chair by Dean's bed. He swallowed hard, reaching for his son's hand. "He's still so cold..."

"Whole hospital's cold," Sam shivered. "It's kinda creepy."

"I hate hospitals." John said absently.

"I think everyone does."

They were quiet for a few minutes, listening to the reassuring sound of the heart monitor.

"What are we gonna do, Dad?" Sam asked, running a hand through his hair.

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe we should admit him."

"What? Are you crazy, he'd hate it!" John glared.

"He'd hate it even more if we missed our shot at the demon because of this." Sam pointed out. "That's the whole reason..." He trailed off.

"You're right." Their father sighed. "We definitely can't leave him alone. Not after this...But I still don't like the idea of leaving him here. This is Dean we're talking about; he'd probably find a way to escape."

"True." Sam hadn't even thought about that, but if anyone could break out of a psych ward, it was his brother. "We could call Bobby."

John laughed. "He promised to shoot me if he ever saw me again."

Sam smiled faintly. "I'm sure you deserved it."

"Hell, I know I did."

"Still, he's always been there for me and Dean." _Even when you weren't._ The unspoken words hung between them.

"Alright. Why don't you give him a call?"

Sam nodded, taking one last look at his unconscious brother before stepping into the hallway and dialing Bobby's number.

" _This is Agent Willis, FBI."_

Sam grinned. "Hey, Bobby. It's Sam. Sorry, I think I dialed your 'FBI' line instead of your cell."

The older man chuckled. " _An easy mistake to make. How've you been, Sam?"_

He hesitated. "Not too good, actually."

 _"What's going on?"_ He could hear the concern in the older man's voice.

"It's Dean...he's in the hospital."

 _"Balls! What happened?"_

Sam swallowed hard. It hurt to say aloud. "He overdosed on a bunch of pain pills."

There was a shocked silence. "Bobby, you still there?"

" _Yeah. How...? I mean, were you guys on a case? Did he get cursed or somethin'?"_

"No."

 _"Aw, hell."_

"Yeah," Sam ran a hand through his hair.

 _"Is he gonna make it?"_

"Yeah, he'll make a full recovery."

" _Good."_ Bobby sounded relieved. " _Is there anything you two need? Does yer daddy know?"_

"Yeah, my dad is actually here with us."

" _Now that's a miracle right there."_ Bobby chuckled dryly.

"Tell me about it." Sam mumbled. "Anyway, there is something you can do for us. Is there any way you could meet us at the hospital and take Dean home with you? We're in Toledo, Ohio."

Bobby seemed taken aback at the request. " _Yeah, I mean, guess I could. Got nothin' going on for the next few days. But can I ask why? He needs you, Sam. Especially now."_

"I know." Sam admitted guiltily. "But Dad and I have a lead on the demon that killed Mom and Jessica. This could be our only chance, and-"

 _"I expected this from your father, but from you? Sam, there are more important things than revenge!"_ Bobby said angrily.

"Trust me, I wanna stay here and look after Dean. But he would never forgive himself if we missed this chance because of him. You know that."

Bobby sighed. " _Alright. But for the love of God, you'd better come back in one piece. If anythin' happens to you or John..."_

"I know."

" _Okay, well I guess I better pack my bags. I'll see you tomorrow morning."_

"Thanks, Bobby."

He hung up the phone and headed back to the room. Dean hadn't moved, and showed no signs of waking up. John sniffed, and Sam looked away as his father discreetly wiped tears from his cheeks.

"What did Bobby say?" He asked gruffly.

"He'll do it. He said he'd be here tomorrow morning to take Dean home with him."

"Good." John nodded. He scratched absently at his beard. "On second thought, are we sure Bobby's house is the safest place for him? The man has more weapons than an armory. And they're all over the house. The entire place is basically booby-trapped."

"Dean would say it's 'Bobby-trapped'." Sam chuckled softly, and his father cracked a small smile. "But you have a point..." He thought for a moment and shook his head. "No, this is the best place for him. I trust Bobby, he'll keep Dean safe."

John nodded. "You're right. I just..." He trailed off. He didn't even need to say the words. Sam knew what he was thinking, because the same thing was going through his own mind.

 _Jesus I'm so fucking worried. This is all my fault. What if he tries again? What if we can't stop him next time? How the fuck did this happen?_

"I know," Sam patted his father's shoulder. He walked over to the opposite side of Dean's bed and sat down.

His brother was so pale. So still. He looked dead.

Sam needed him to wake up soon. He needed to ask him what the _fuck_ he was thinking. To tell him they _needed_ him, and that he'd better not pull something like this ever again. But mostly he needed to say sorry. To apologize for not seeing what was right in front of his face. For not realizing how much Dean was hurting all along.

He tiredly rubbed his eyes. Their life was such a train wreck. Could they ever make this right?

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Please leave a review if you have time... :) I'm hoping to get the next chapter up within a week. (for real this time)**


	11. Chapter 11

**I should be doing homework right now, but if I have to solve one more polynomial long division problem, I'm gonna kill myself. So I'm gonna write about Dean wanting to kill himself instead.**

* * *

The doctor had warned them it might be a while until Dean woke up, but Sam and John refused to leave his side.

Sam glanced at his father. This had to be a record; normally they couldn't be in the same room for ten minutes before starting an argument. It had been almost two hours, and they'd barely spoken at all.

A slight change in the rhythm of the heart monitor caught their attention. They stood over the bed, watching his every move as Dean gradually rose to consciousness. The minute those green eyes opened, Sam breathed a sigh of relief. A part of him had worried the doctors were wrong, and his brother would never wake up.

Dean blinked slowly, looking slightly confused. His unfocused gaze landed on their father, who was gripping his hand tightly. John's eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, and a look of guilty realization suddenly crossed Dean's face.

"Dad, 'm sorry," He said, still slurring his words thanks to the anesthesia. His voice was hoarse, and Sam wondered if it was because of the tube they'd had to shove down his throat to pump his stomach...

"Don't you _ever_ do that again." John's voice wavered.

Dean looked away.

"We almost lost you, man." Sam said quietly.

"I know," These words, barely above a whisper, were spoken with genuine regret. "Didn't want you to miss the hunt 'cause of me."

"You're more important than revenge, Dean."

"But-"

"Stop," John shook his head. "Just don't. I know you don't believe it now, but someday I hope you will. We called Bobby, he's gonna keep an eye on you while we go after the demon."

Dean frowned. "You told Bobby? Dammit...he shouldn't have to babysit me."

"We're not really seeing a third option here." Sam shrugged. "I mean, we could always leave you in the psych ward."

"No." Dean said firmly, an emotion close to fear in his eyes. "No."

"Alright, then Bobby will be here in the morning to take you back to his place."

"What did he say? When you told him." Dean asked nervously.

"He's worried about you." Sam answered. "We all are."

Dean couldn't meet their eyes. He was so uncomfortable with all this attention. "Sorry," He mumbled again. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"Will you though?" John asked with a hint of anger in his tone. "Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you don't wanna try again?"

Dean swallowed hard. "No," He admitted. "Won't try pills again though, that sucked ass." He said, a lame attempt at humor to lighten the moment. It didn't work.

The sick feeling in Sam's stomach returned. He knew for a fact that if Dean chose another method of suicide, he would succeed. They'd been around guns and knives their entire lives. His brother knew exactly which veins to cut, and how much time he'd have before he passed out. And with a gun...his chance of survival was zero.

"Just...please don't try _anything._ " Sam was shaking ever so slightly, and Dean squeezed his hand.

"I'm sorry, Sammy."

"Me too." He pulled his hand away, clearing his throat. "I need coffee. Dad, you want anything?"

"Yeah, get me one too."

"What about me?" Dean joked, although his stomach protested. "Some pie would be nice too."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'll have to clear it with the doctor." He walked out, closing the door behind him.

John sat back down in the chair beside his oldest son, but didn't let go of his hand. Dean would never admit it, but he was thankful for the comforting touch, the strong grip of his father.

After a few moments of silence, John finally spoke.

"You know, when you were a kid...I'd come home from a hunt. And after what I'd seen, I'd be...I'd be wrecked. And you, you'd come up to me, put your hand on my shoulder...and you'd look me in the eye and you'd say, 'it's okay, Dad.'" He sniffed, and Dean realized that he was crying. He didn't know what to say, so he just squeezed his father's hand.

"Dean, I'm sorry." He quickly wiped the tears from his eyes. "You shouldn't have had to say that to me. Hell, I should've been saying that to you. I put too much on your shoulders. I made you grow up too fast. You took care of Sammy, you took care of me...and you still do. You never complained, not once. I just want you to know that I am _so_ proud of you."

With those words. Dean felt his own eyes fill with tears. He'd wanted, _needed_ to hear that for so long. But hearing them now...he didn't deserve to.

"You shouldn't be." He said, voice thick with emotion.

"Dean-"

"I'm such a fuck-up, I can't even kill myself right."

"Dean Winchester, you listen to me." His father leaned in close. "I _cannot_ lose you. Neither can Sammy. Haven't we lost enough already? You're not...you're not a fuck-up, you're my son. You may be hurting right now, but we'll get through this. I promise."

"Yeah, if you and Sam make it out alive..." He shook his head. "God, I'm so stupid. I should be there, in this fight with you."

John just looked at him sadly. "I wish you'd quit talking about yourself like that." He coughed. "Anyway, we'll be fine. We always are. I wish you could be there with us too, but you're hurt. It's okay, things happen."

Before Dean could reply, Sam came back with the coffee.

"What, no pie?"

"Nice try," His brother's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "But the doctor said you probably shouldn't start out with a bunch of sugary foods. Your digestive system is gonna be messed up for the next few days."

"Great." Dean sighed. He could already feel it, he felt nauseous and his stomach was cramping. Even the thought of food made him want to throw up.

Just then, a nurse came in with a clipboard. "Mr. Winchester?" She looked to John apologetically. "Could we get you to fill out some paperwork? Just insurance information, it won't take long."

"Sure thing." He stood and followed her out the door. "I'll be right back."

Sam leaned against the wall and sipped at his coffee. Dean could tell he was trying hard to hide his anger and concern.

"Sammy, are you okay?"

His brother laughed. "Better than you."

"You know what I'm talking about. What's wrong, man? Talk to me."

"Seriously?" Sam glared. "You almost fucking died, that's what's _wrong._ Did you really think I'd get over it?"

"I-"

"No. Cause let me tell you, Dean. Losing Jess might have messed me up, but losing _you_? I could never...never get over that."

"Sam, I'm sorry...it's just..." He struggled to find the words, but he couldn't.

"How long?" Sam asked quietly, finally walking over to Dean's bed and sitting down next to him.

"How long...?"

"How long have you been suicidal? I've been...thinking back, and...and I'm pretty sure this started before I left for Stanford. I was just too wrapped up in my own issues with Dad to notice."

Dean sighed. "It's not like I wanted to kill myself all the time. Sometimes I'd just get in this funk where I didn't really care if I lived. Don't know why." He shrugged. "It got worse when you and Dad were fighting. The first time you ran away was the first time I actually considered..."

"Killing yourself?" Sam looked like he was gonna cry.

"Yeah. Hey, it's not your fault. Okay, don't think for one second this is on you. It's just me. I'm fucked up."

Sam shook his head. "It _is_ my fault though. At least partially." He ran a hand through his hair. "When you came to get me at Stanford, I knew something was off. You were different. I thought it was cause you were worried about Dad. I should've realized..."

"You couldn't have known, Sam. Really."

"Can I ask you something?"

"If I say yes, am I gonna regret it?" Dean smirked.

Sam rolled his eyes but asked anyway. "All those times before, when we were kids...At first you would try to get between me and Dad, try to help us figure out our crap. But when you realized you couldn't...you'd just sit there, really quiet while we screamed at each other. You wouldn't say a word, you'd just kinda stare at the wall. You were thinking about it then, weren't you? Thinking about killing yourself."

"Huh. I didn't know you noticed that...yeah, most of the time." Dean admitted.

"Why didn't you?"

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"I mean, I'm glad you didn't. But...what kept you alive back then? Maybe the same thing can help you now."

"I uh, thought you needed me." He said quietly. "I'm supposed to look out for you, Sammy. But you don't need me anymore."

"Dean, you're my big brother." Sam's voice broke. "I'm always gonna need you."


	12. Chapter 12

When Bobby arrived at the hospital, he introduced himself to the nurses as Dean's uncle. It wasn't too far from the truth, and luckily the Winchesters had let them know he was coming. They led him to the room, and he coughed to announce his presence.

"Bobby," Sam smiled and gave him a hug.

John couldn't help the pinprick of jealousy, but he ignored it. "Thanks for coming." He shook the older man's hand.

"Yeah, well, I ain't doin' it for you." He looked past John to see Dean sitting up in the hospital bed. The boy looked fine, if not a little pale.

"Hey, Bobby. Good to see you." He said as Bobby gently clapped him on the shoulder, careful to avoid the bandages around his bicep.

"Yeah, how you feelin'?"

"Good. I'm fine." He lied.

Bobby narrowed his eyes. "For a hunter, you make a terrible liar."

Dean shrugged. "I've had worse."

They couldn't argue with that. Usually when they got hurt, they were able to just patch each other up. But on a few rare occasions, a visit to the ER had been necessary. It was strange to see Dean in a hospital bed. And Bobby didn't like it.

"What happened to you?" He asked.

Dean's eyes widened, and he stuttered. "I, uh...I thought Sam told you." He bit his lip. He couldn't say it aloud, couldn't tell Bobby what he'd done.

"I mean these." The older man gestured to the bandages around Dean's arm.

"Oh," He breathed a sigh of relief. "Happened when Sammy and I were taking out a vamp's nest."

"They got his side and his thigh too," Sam added.

"Good to know." Bobby nodded. He knew he'd probably be helping Dean change the bandages. The wounds would definitely limit his mobility.

"You ready to go?" John asked Sam.

"Yes sir." They'd already packed up their things and were ready to leave.

John squeezed his son's hand one last time. "Be good for Bobby,"

Dean chuckled. "I'm not five." His face grew serious. "Dad, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't die."

"We won't." John said, although he wasn't sure he could promise anything.

"Same to you." Sam requested quietly.

Dean just nodded.

"Call me if you run into any problems. I'll do what I can." Bobby offered.

"Thanks."

"And do yourselves a favor, get a good night's sleep before you try to kick this thing's ass." Bobby said, observing their bloodshot eyes and heavy shoulders.

Dean tried to swallow the panic as his dad and brother walked out that door to fight the demon without him. If anything happened to them...

"Hey," Bobby got his attention, noticing the look on his face. "They'll be fine. They always are. Your daddy is one tough son of a bitch."

Dean wasn't convinced.

A nurse came in holding a bag that contained Dean's clothes. "Are you ready to be discharged, Mr. Winchester?" She asked in an obnoxiously cheerful tone.

Dean grimaced. "That's my dad's name, but yeah I'm ready to blow this joint."

She handed him the clothes, and he limped over to the bathroom to change. He was thankful to finally be rid of the god-awful hospital gown and regain some dignity, however little was left.

He could hear the nurse talking to Bobby about what to expect when they left. The older man didn't need the lecture on wound care, he'd stitched up more hunters than anyone they knew. But when she started talking about suicide watch and warning signs, Dean was glad to be hiding in the bathroom. He didn't want to see Bobby's face for this.

* * *

It was a long drive back to Sioux Falls, and they stopped several times so Dean could get out and stretch. The wounds in his thigh were proving to be the worst, and the bumpy roads weren't helping.

"So," Bobby started, and Dean suppressed a groan. Stuck in a car with Bobby for hours, he knew this was gonna come up. Didn't mean he was ready for it.

"Yeah?"

"Look, I know your dad and Sam have probably chewed your ear off already, so I'm not gonna give you the speech."

"Thank God," Dean said under his breath.

"But you need to know somethin'. If you think this world is better off without you, you're wrong."

Dean scoffed. "The only thing I'm good at is killing things."

Bobby frowned. "And savin' people. Think about all the lives you've saved by killin' things. You're a hero, boy."

Dean's eyes widened. "I'm a lot of things, but a hero? Not one of them."

"Have you seen the way Sam looks at you?"

"What?"

"He's been lookin' at you this way since he was old enough to walk. You're _his_ hero. That boy worships you. Seein' you like this is tearing him apart, and you're a damn fool if you can't see it."

Dean looked out the window so Bobby wouldn't see the expression on his face. He'd never wanted Sammy to see him so weak.

* * *

They reached Bobby's house, and the older man helped him out of the car. "So, you gonna lock me in the panic room?" He quipped.

"Don't tempt me."

They took his bags into the house and Dean surveyed the guest bedroom. "I think I remember this place having more...knives. And what happened to that battle axe you had hanging above the bed? I love that thing."

Bobby set the bags down. "Relocated 'em."

"Oh," Dean knew what was going on here. "Fucking hell, you don't need to babyproof everything."

"I didn't." Bobby folded his arms across his chest defensively. "Just this room and the adjoining bathroom."

Dean limped over to the bathroom. Not even a disposable razor.

"Jesus, are you gonna watch me shave too?"

"Yeah, actually I am. And you're not gonna whine about it, cause you lost that right when you swallowed an entire bottle of pills." Bobby glared.

Dean looked down. "Fair enough."

Bobby's eyes softened. "I wanna trust you, kid. I really do. But I'm worried as hell, and I just can't take any chances right now."

"I get it."


	13. Talk Me Down

The next couple days were alright. Sam would text Dean frequently, updating him on their progress. They were getting closer, which was both terrifying and exciting at the same time.

Bobby hardly let Dean out of his sight. They kept busy, answering calls and impersonating FBI, Homeland Security, etc. for other hunters. Bobby also put him to work packing rock salt into bullets. Anything to keep him occupied.

Then everything went to hell.

On the third day, Sam sent him a message saying:

 **Dean. This is it, tonight we're going after the demon.**

He'd responded, asking if they needed him at all, even if it was to use him for bait. As expected, Sam replied with a, "Hell no," and told him that no matter what happened, he needed to stay alive and try to be happy.

It sounded way too much like a goodbye.

* * *

By the fourth night, they still hadn't heard anything. Dean had called and texted, but received no reply. He sat there on the couch, nervously fidgeting with his phone.

"Dean, you should get some sleep. It's gettin' late." Bobby said, switching off the TV.

"What if something happened to them? What if..."

"Don't do this to yourself, boy."

"I haven't heard anything since yesterday."

"I'm sure they're fine. You'll wake up to a text from Sam in the morning."

Dean doubted that. There was a twisting, sick feeling in his gut. What if they were _dead_?

"Come on, it's almost midnight. I need my beauty sleep."

He let Bobby lock him in the guest bedroom, but he didn't even try to fall asleep. There was no point. He sent a text every half hour. Fuck it. If Sam was ignoring him, he'd just blow up his phone. And if he wasn't...

No. Dean couldn't deal with that.

 **12:05 : Sam, please call me**

 **12:35 : Dude I'm serious**

 **1:05 : You gotta be ok man I can't do this without you**

 **1:35 : i dont care how late it is when you get back CALL ME**

 **2:05 : Sammy please**

He sighed, glancing at the clock. It was gonna be a long night. He hesitated before texting his dad's phone as well. Their father rarely answered texts, but he might make an exception this time.

 **Dad Sam isn't answering his phone please call me as soon as you get this**

He resisted the urge to throw his phone against the wall. Goddammit, why weren't they answering? Something horrible had happened, he just knew it.

He was gonna be alone.

His family was dead.

He couldn't breathe.

Dean tried to take deep breaths, but the hopelessness overwhelmed him. Suicidal thoughts swarmed his brain, and the only thing he could think of was putting a bullet through his head.

Fuck suicide watch.

He let his fevered gaze sweep over the room, looking for something, _anything..._

He could always hang himself with his sheets. Not the classiest way to go out, but hell, it was something.

Then he remembered.

A faint memory from years ago.

He was 12, and Sammy was 8. Their father had been on a hunt for almost three weeks, and they were out of food. They called Bobby to pick them up, and they spent the remaining two weeks with him until John returned. In that time, Bobby had let them use this very same guest bedroom.

He told them to make themselves at home, and for Dean that meant making a cache of weapons. When it finally came time for them to leave, he left a single blade under the floorboards near the bed. It was his way of leaving a mark on the place. "Dean Winchester was here."

Every time they stayed with him, Dean took comfort in knowing that no matter what happened, he had a secret weapon hidden, just in case.

Well, the day had finally arrived. This was the 'just in case'.

He'd completely forgotten about it over the years, but as he looked at that spot near the bed, he sighed with relief. That floorboard was still loose. He pried it up, hoping it didn't make too much noise.

There it was. Covered in dust, but still razor sharp. It was a small dagger, nothing fancy. He remembered it being bigger, but it would still do the trick. He hesitated, reaching for his phone.

To Sam, he wrote:

 **You're probably dead and i can't do this. Not sure if the afterlife exists, but i'll meet u there if it does**

To his father:

 **Dad I'm sorry for giving up. See u soon, you can kick my ass then.**

And finally to Bobby, he simply said:

 **I'm sorry.**

He picked up the knife again and pressed it to the inside of his wrist. The sharp edge made a shallow cut, and a thin trickle of blood ran down his arm.

Just then he heard someone fumbling with the lock on the door, and Bobby burst in.

"The hell do you think you're doing?" He'd obviously just woken up, his hair and beard in disarray. He knelt beside the younger man, slowly reaching out. "Dean, hand it over."

"How did you-"

"Got the volume on my phone turned up in cases your daddy called." Bobby explained. "Son, please don't do this." His voice broke, and it was the most emotional he'd ever seen the older man.

"Bobby, they're dead. I just know it."

"But you don't know it! Tell you what, tomorrow we'll drive to the last place Sam texted you from. We'll do some diggin', and we'll find them. I promise you."

Dean still gripped the knife tightly. The blade bit down into his arm further, and he could feel the warm blood pooling around the wound.

"What if they're alive? What if they come back here, and you're the dead one? How do you think that would go, hm? Pretty sure your dad wouldn't be too far behind you. And what about Sammy? You gonna leave him to face the world alone?"

 _Sam._

 _Sammy._

If there was any chance he was alive, Dean couldn't do this to him.

And what if the demon had them? What if they were being tortured?

He let the knife fall to the floor with a clatter, and Bobby quickly tossed it out of his reach. He grabbed Dean's wrist with shaking hands, examining the cut. "You'll need a couple stitches." He said softly. He retrieved a first aid kit complete with sutures from underneath the bed and helped Dean to his feet.

"I'm sorry, Bobby." He swallowed hard. "Just...couldn't do it without them."

"Yeah," Bobby gave him a quick hug. "Now sit down, let's fix you up."

He steadied his hands long enough to stitch Dean's wound, and then the two of them just sat together in silence, Bobby's arm draped around Dean's shoulders while the younger man put his head in his hands. His chest felt tight, like he couldn't get enough air.

"Dean, you need to breathe." Bobby reminded gently.

"Can...can you stay with me tonight? I...need help." Admitting that out loud was one of the hardest things he'd ever done, but he knew the minute Bobby left him alone, he'd slit his wrists.

"No shit. I'm obviously not gonna leave you alone right now." Bobby said, still having his own minor panic attack. If Dean hadn't texted him...

Neither of them slept that night.


	14. Chapter 14

It was 6:00 in the morning, and Dean was helping Bobby pack the bags. They were going to find out what had happened to Sam and John. He had stopped obsessively checking his phone, preparing himself for the worst. He fully expected to find nothing but bloody bodies.

Then his phone rang.

He checked the caller ID, and almost dropped to his knees right there in Bobby's driveway.

"Sam?" He answered, steeling himself for the chance that some cop had found his brother's phone, and they were dead after all.

" _Dean!"_ Sam sounded breathless, emotional. " _Thank God..."_

"Sammy, what's going on? Is Dad okay?"

Bobby's eyes widened, and he stepped closer. Dean put the phone on speaker.

" _I'm right here, son_." His father's voice crackled over the line, and Dean held onto Bobby for support. They were alive. They'd made it.

"What the hell happened?"

 _"It was touch-and-go there for a while, but 84 stitches and a broken arm later_..." Sam chuckled. " _The demon is dead, man. We killed it. It's over."_

"Holy shit..." Dean breathed. "Are you guys okay? 84 stitches, damn..."

" _We've had worse_." John reassured. " _I got 31 of 'em, Sam got the rest. Not all in one place either, we probably look like Frankenstein's monsters. We're still at the hospital_."

"So who's the lucky bastard that broke his arm?" Bobby asked.

 _"That'd be me_." John answered sheepishly.

"Figures."

" _Dean, what happened last night_?" Sam finally asked. " _We checked our phones as soon as we could find a charger...I... Jesus, I thought you'd killed yourself_."

"Almost did." He admitted. "Bobby saved me."

" _Thanks, Singer_." John said. Dean could tell he was getting emotional. " _When I saw those messages_..."

"Hey, it's okay, Dad. I'm okay."

" _Christ, Dean. You can't keep doing this_." Sam was understandably upset.

"I know. I just...fuck, I thought you were dead."

" _Well, we're not. We're headed back to Bobby's house, as soon as we finish giving this hospital our insurance information."_

"Our fake insurance information."

" _Dude, you can't say that out loud, you're on speaker_." Sam said grumpily.

"Yeah, alright." Dean smirked. "I'll see you guys soon."

" _Be safe, man_."

"I will." Dean said. And this time he meant it. He didn't know what the future was gonna hold, but maybe things would be better now. Maybe they could be a real family again. He was willing to give it a chance.


End file.
